


Fate Saga Reaction

by Sanctified_Jasper



Category: Fate: The Winx Saga (TV), Winx Club
Genre: F/M, Fate: the Winx Saga should be it's own warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28452117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanctified_Jasper/pseuds/Sanctified_Jasper
Summary: I finally read the sneak peak of the Book for the new Fate: the Winx Saga series on Netflix, the way I wanted to set up my reaction for blogging put it at over 14,000 words, so I'm dumping the unabridged version here.This work includes the Available Fate: the Winx Saga chapters from the Sneak Peak for full reaction context.Note, re: the show: The Novelisation contains far more deliberate vitriol concerning the original series. The show, while far from perfect and inoffensive, doesn't go out of its way to deliberately crap all over the OG series. The same cannot be said of the Novelisation.This reaction pertains solely to the Novelisation.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second part of each chapter will be my initial thoughts and reactions, just skip if your not here for that.  
> and yes, this is the sneak peak chapters verbatim.  
> https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-fairies-path-fate-the-winx-saga-tie-in-novel  
> see the "preview"

**B** loom Peters pulled her grubby sleeping bag up to her chin, shivered on the deflating air mattress laid on the cold floor, and wished for home.

No kindly fairy godmother came to grant her wish.

The warehouse where she spent her nights was a space that could give you nightmares, and Bloom didn’t need any help in the nightmare department. There was detritus heaped in the corners of the cavernous space, and sometimes Bloom heard weird rustling coming from that direction—rustling that she’d firmly decided _not_ to investigate. Moonlight sent shafts of cold illumination down through the apertures in the roof, like alien spaceships searching for an abductee.

Luckily for Bloom, her nightmares were about burning homes and not chilly warehouses. And she couldn’t have nightmares if she never slept.

She sat up in her makeshift bed and reached for her notepad, using her phone to light the top page.

Bloom’s list of ideas was titled _What the hell is happening to me?_

_Pyrokinesis?_

_Mutations?_

_Superpowers?_

_Fireproof?_

Under her list of ideas, she’d written the results of her experiments.

_July 6th—candles—no burns._

_July 8th—camping stove—no burns._

_July 10th—blowtorch—no burns._

Experimenting on herself had been scary, but not as scary as the memory of her home burning. Every night, she relived the fight she’d had with her mom, and then the moment she’d woken to find her house in flames. She’d known that somehow, she’d done this. She’d charged through her burning house into her parents’ bedroom to find the bed, the curtains, the whole room a seething inferno. Even the ceiling was a sea of flame. Bloom remembered her dad coughing desperately on the floor, her mom wrapped in a blanket and covered in burns. As though the fire had lunged to swallow her mom, when Bloom would never …

Bloom would never. Only she had.

Every night, she crept out of her nice, normal bedroom in her nice, normal, being-reconstructed-from-fire-damage home. She came here and huddled on the floor and tried to think her way out of this. Bloom considered herself a fighter, but she 

was the one who’d hurt her mom. She didn’t know how to fight herself.

Another rustle came, this one much louder. Bloom’s head jerked up. She couldn’t see much through the grime-smeared windows. If someone had seen a teenage girl sneak into the abandoned warehouse, they might get all kinds of ideas.

Bloom put down her phone and her notebook. Let them try to come at her. She’d hurt her own mother. She wouldn’t hesitate to go scorched-earth on a creep. Literally.

There was another sound, an echoing footstep. Bloom’s hands clenched into fists. She felt an itch in the center of each palm, like heat building.

The sound of the footstep hadn’t come from the direction of the door.

Bloom spun around to see the woman.

This was no ordinary intruder.

This woman was clearly extraordinary. There was no question about that. She was tall, a middle-aged white woman in conservative clothes with an ash-blonde mane severely pinned up, dark decided eyebrows, and an air of immense dignity. Her presence seemed to transform the grubby warehouse into a stateroom.

Also, the wall behind the woman had opened into a shimmering portal of light. Just another clue that something unusual was going on.

“Bloom Peters?” said the stranger. “I’m Farah Dowling. Please try to forget my first name immediately. If you come to my school, you won’t be using it. Headmistresses don’t have first names.”

Bloom’s first shock was fading.

“If I come … to your school,” said Bloom. A jagged laugh erupted from her throat. “Oh, a mysterious stranger has come to tell me about her school for wizards?”

“Not wizards,” said the woman.

Bloom waved this off. “Is this the part where you tell me I’m magic now?”

“You always were, Bloom,” said Headmistress Dowling. “You just didn’t know it yet.”

That was enough. She might have mysterious powers that were out of control, the world might be going mad, but her parents hadn’t raised her to listen to strange adults who approached in the dead of night with what sounded like a cult recruitment speech. Bloom snorted, abandoned her sleeping bag, and made for the door.

The woman’s voice stopped her at the mouth of the warehouse.

“I know about the fire, Bloom.”

Bloom trembled like a candle flame in a gust of wind. Slowly, she turned around. The woman was watching her with a steady gaze, keen but not unkind.

“Where are you going? You can’t go home. You’re too afraid you’ll hurt your parents again.”

Headmistress Dowling was right. Bloom shivered. Even in California, the nights could get cold.

Dowling moved toward Bloom, and Bloom held still, caught by a mixture of fear and hope.

“You’re looking for answers. I’m a teacher. That means I have all the answers. Or at least, I’ll tell you that I do.”

Bloom wanted to go home even more than she wanted answers, but she couldn’t find a safe path. Not on her own.

So when the woman spoke, Bloom listened.

* * *

Reactions/Thoughts

* * *

> Under her list of ideas, she’d written the results of her experiments.
> 
> _July 6th—candles—no burns._
> 
> _July 8th—camping stove—no burns._
> 
> _July 10th—blowtorch—no burns._
> 
> Experimenting on herself had been scary, but not as scary as the memory of her home burning.

You set shit on fire and your only experiments thus far are: “does this burn me? How about this?”  
CHILD! Start with a candle, a lighter and a f*cking FIRE EXTINGUISHER and practice putting out a single flame!!!!  
Then: light a single candle!

Stop putting your hand in fire if it scares you! “I am this many kinds of fire proof” does not equal “control of fire so I don't hurt anyone else”!!!!

* * *

> Also, the wall behind the woman had opened into a shimmering portal of light. Just another clue that something unusual was going on.
> 
> -
> 
> Bloom waved this off. “Is this the part where you tell me I’m magic now?”
> 
> “You always were, Bloom,” said Headmistress Dowling. “You just didn’t know it yet.”
> 
> That was enough. She might have mysterious powers that were out of control, the world might be going mad, but her parents hadn’t raised her to listen to strange adults who approached in the dead of night with what sounded like a cult recruitment speech. Bloom snorted, abandoned her sleeping bag, and made for the door.
> 
> The woman’s voice stopped her at the mouth of the warehouse.
> 
> “I know about the fire, Bloom.”
> 
> Bloom trembled like a candle flame in a gust of wind. Slowly, she turned around. The woman was watching her with a steady gaze, keen but not unkind.
> 
> “Where are you going? You can’t go home. You’re too afraid you’ll hurt your parents again.”
> 
> Headmistress Dowling was right.

Kay, so obvious magic goes unremarked upon, not even a “nice trick with the lights, is that suppose to convince me”.

Also, either someone's been stalking Bloom, or Dowling is some kind of Mind Fairy.


	2. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bloom's segments "Fire" are the only sections told from a 1st person POV

I had only just arrived at the castle, and honestly, I was in shock.

 _Chill, Bloom_ , I kept repeating in my mind, but it was hard to be chill in fairyland. I hadn’t expected my new fairy school to look like the castle in an illustration from the book of fairy tales I used to treasure. Once upon a time, it was my favorite possession, the fanciest book I owned, with golden swirls on the cover. But I’d grown up and packed the book into my old toy chest along with my teddy bears. I’d thought I was long past fairy tales.

That was before I used magic to burn down my house. My toy chest and my fairy-tale book had burned, too.

Even as a kid, I’d never expected to actually step into a fairy tale. The whole landscape was like this. Verdant rolling hills that looked soft as green velvet, dark deep forests, and now a castle surrounded by gates and gardens.

There were domed towers on either side of the castle, and the roof was speckled with turrets. The walls seemed to be granite, but smoother somehow, like granite turned to glass or given a magic gloss. Maybe fairies could do that.

I had no idea what fairies could do. Yet apparently, I was one.

My book of fairy tales hadn’t included a swarm of kids around my age. One long-legged, capable-looking African American chick strode by, wearing a denim jacket and carrying a bag full of athletic gear. Wait, she wasn’t African American. Fairies didn’t have Africa or America. I didn’t know the name of the fairy realm I was currently in. Also, I hadn’t pictured fairies being into extreme sports.

Another girl, pale with a cloud of brown hair, was clutching several plants to her bosom as she hurried across the courtyard. A third sauntered by, vaguely punk rock and olive-skinned and wearing enormous headphones that buzzed faintly on her ears. I hadn’t pictured fairies rocking out, either.

There was a rangy guy with skinny jeans, overly sardonic eyebrows, and a knife-bridge nose. California had plenty of white boy edgelords, but this edgelord had an actual knife. Oh no, _actual knife!_ I wasn’t interested in getting to know Knife Boy better.

A stunning blonde girl with porcelain skin was taking a selfie with a group of overawed younger students. A luminous wisp floated in the air, making her glossy hair shine. Talk about a beauty angle. Seemingly, fairies could create their own beauty lighting.

I checked my phone. Headmistress Dowling had told me an older girl called Stella would meet me and show me the ropes. Stella was late, and I was tired of waiting. I could find my way on my own.

I started forward, hesitated and redirected, and then started forward again. Boldness was everything.

“Wow,” said a voice. “You are so lost.”

Some guy was talking to me. Thankfully, not Knife Guy, but … sorry, Some Guy, I don’t have time for you.

Some Guy continued, his voice thoughtful. “The issue is you overcommitted. I mean, you’re essentially running. And now that I’m here, you can’t possibly give me the satisfaction of turning around.”

I sneaked a look at him and grinned. His hair had coiffed peaks like a gold helmet and his shirt was pink, which I liked because gender stereotypes were for the weak. He even had a summer tan that fishbelly-pale redheaded me could only dream of. But no matter how cute he was, I wasn’t going to encourage him.

“I guess that means we have to do this forever. There are worse things, but—”

I stopped and turned to him. “I don’t need help, but thanks.”

Now I was looking at him properly, Some Guy was _very_ cute, with a hero jawline and a confident air. Some Guy might be cute, but I was the independent type.

Some Guy teased: “Don’t remember offering it. So presumptuous. You must be a fairy.”

Well, that’s what Headmistress Dowling had told me. I took a deep breath, and said it out loud for the first time. “Yes. I am a fairy.”

The castle and the cute boy went hazy around me for a minute. I continued bantering, but I wasn’t doing a great job at hiding how overwhelmed I was. He guessed I wasn’t from around here, and his gaze softened as though he felt bad for me.

Back in California, I hadn’t fit in. Could I here? This boy seemed so completely at home, in a castle, in a world where fairies were real. Part of me wanted to keep smiling at him, and part of me wanted to find my own way.

“Dude! Quit perving on the first years.”

Cute Guy turned around at the voice, which belonged to Knife Boy. Oh, hell no. I was out of here.

I made my way toward the staircase while the pair bro-hugged. Knife Boy was apparently called “Riv.” Well. My name was Bloom. I shouldn’t judge.

The blonde with the magic beauty lighting caught up with me at the staircase. She would’ve been even more beautiful if she hadn’t been wearing an expression suggesting she smelled something bad.

“Bloom?”

I guessed that something was me.

“You must be Stella. Hi. I’ve been waiting. I just kinda got impatient.”

Stella didn’t seem impressed by my impatience, but she led the way through the castle, waving an airy hand around at the impressive surroundings. Some of the chandeliers in this place were so dainty and delicate, they looked like stars suspended on gilt ribbons. The rooms were large and bright, with sunbeams dyed by stained-glass windows that were as intricate as the embroidery on a princess’s hem. Much of the stained glass was different shades of green, subtly coloring the air around us as though we were in a world made of jade and emerald.

Stella wasn’t impressed, but she was totally impressive herself. She wore her hair in a cool looping braid, a trenchcoat with a _haute couture_ air, and awesome red boots. I was a boots girl myself, plus I wore red and pink because redheads weren’t supposed to and I liked breaking rules. All my dresses-and-boots ensembles would pale compared to Stella, though. Even Stella’s hand was decorated. I nodded toward her ornate jewelry. “That is a lot of ring.”

“Family heirloom,” said Stella. “A gateway ring. The only thing that keeps me sane in this place is the ability to leave it.”

She continued talking, full of ennui about the fairy-tale castle, while I sneaked another look at her ring. “If you ever want to go back,” Stella said as she deliberately flashed it at me. She was making some kind of power play, and I didn’t know why.

This girl Stella didn’t know how badly I wanted to go back home. But I couldn’t. That woman, Headmistress Dowling, had promised me answers.

I let Stella lead me upstairs to the set of rooms in the fairy-tale castle that she referred to as the Winx suite. I dumped my bags, but I didn’t pay much attention to what Stella was saying. I was focused on answers.

My first order of business was finding Headmistress Dowling again.

* * *

Reactions/Thoughts

* * *

> Once upon a time, it was my favorite possession, the fanciest book I owned, with golden swirls on the cover. But I’d grown up and packed the book into my old toy chest along with my teddy bears. I’d thought I was long past fairy tales.
> 
> That was before I used magic to burn down my house. My toy chest and my fairy-tale book had burned, too.

Creators kick my nostalgia for the lulz: 01

* * *

> My book of fairy tales hadn’t included a swarm of kids around my age. One long-legged, capable-looking African American chick strode by, wearing a denim jacket and carrying a bag full of athletic gear. Wait, she wasn’t African American. Fairies didn’t have Africa or America. I didn’t know the name of the fairy realm I was currently in. Also, I hadn’t pictured fairies being into extreme sports.
> 
> Another girl, pale with a cloud of brown hair, was clutching several plants to her bosom as she hurried across the courtyard. A third sauntered by, vaguely punk rock and olive-skinned and wearing enormous headphones that buzzed faintly on her ears. I hadn’t pictured fairies rocking out, either.

Oh look, this Bloom also subscribes to the: “it's not whitewashing if they're aliens” theory

* * *

> There was a rangy guy with skinny jeans, overly sardonic eyebrows, and a knife-bridge nose. California had plenty of white boy edgelords, but this edgelord had an actual knife. Oh no, _actual knife!_ I wasn’t interested in getting to know Knife Boy better.

Called out Riven.

* * *

> A stunning blonde girl with porcelain skin was taking a selfie with a group of overawed younger students. A luminous wisp floated in the air, making her glossy hair shine. Talk about a beauty angle. Seemingly, fairies could create their own beauty lighting.

Bloom is gay for Stella count: 01

* * *

> I sneaked a look at him and grinned. His hair had coiffed peaks like a gold helmet and his shirt was pink, which I liked because gender stereotypes were for the weak. He even had a summer tan that fishbelly-pale redheaded me could only dream of. But no matter how cute he was, I wasn’t going to encourage him.
> 
> “I guess that means we have to do this forever. There are worse things, but—”
> 
> I stopped and turned to him. “I don’t need help, but thanks.”
> 
> Now I was looking at him properly, Some Guy was _very_ cute, with a hero jawline and a confident air. Some Guy might be cute, but I was the independent type.

By the way, it's very important you all know that Bloom is a strong independent woman™ who scoff at gender roles, because she's hip and edgy, but she's like, totes not an edgelord(!) She's cool(!) Even if she hates her super pale skin.

* * *

> Some of the chandeliers in this place were so dainty and delicate, they looked like stars suspended on gilt ribbons. The rooms were large and bright, with sunbeams dyed by stained-glass windows that were as intricate as the embroidery on a princess’s hem. Much of the stained glass was different shades of green, subtly coloring the air around us as though we were in a world made of jade and emerald.

Welcome to the Emerald City of Oz?

* * *

> She continued talking, full of ennui about the fairy-tale castle, while I sneaked another look at her ring. “If you ever want to go back,” Stella said as she deliberately flashed it at me. She was making some kind of power play, and I didn’t know why.

Stella might be a bitch now, but I'm pretty sure It's only because Stella is also Diaspro in this reality?


	3. Fire

A fairy who seemed mostly interested in her phone directed me to the headmistress’s office. Once there, I only found more questions. There was a globe in the office that showed realms instead of continents. There was a realm called Eraklyon, which sounded like a dragon clearing its throat. Apparently, the realm I was currently in was called Solaria.

The fairy school Alfea. The fairy realm Solaria. Worlds away from California, and home.

And Headmistress Dowling, the woman with the answers. My only hope. She fit in here against the background of books and ornate stained glass, her globe of the realms and her shining desk. She stood at her desk, elaborately carved chair and circular mosaic windows of green glass behind her, telling me I was a Fire Fairy.

“That much I know,” I said dryly, and then asked my first question. “So. When do we start?”

Ms. Dowling answered in a measured tone. “Classes begin tomorrow. You’ll start with the basics. Learn to use your magic slowly, but safely.”

It stung. I thought, since she came to get me herself, that she might be giving me special lessons. But no, I was just another student at fairy school. Fine with me. My mission was to get out of here as quickly as possible.

Thus, one word she’d used concerned me. “When you say _slowly_ …”

“I mean it. Magic can be dangerous, as you well know. Our curriculum is designed with that in mind. Trust the process.”

With an edge in my voice, I said: “The … slow … process.”

“Alfea’s graduates have ruled realms and led armies. They’ve forged powerful relics and rediscovered long-lost magic. They shape the Otherworld. If you succeed here, you will, too.”

Her voice was soft, serious, and compelling. Her words unrolled in front of me like another map of strange realms. Ms. Dowling gave a great recruitment speech, but I wasn’t looking to be recruited.

“This place … the Otherworld, Alfea? Honestly, it seems”— _like a storybook come to life_ —“amazing. But it isn’t my home,” I told her. “I don’t need to rule a realm or lead an army. I’m here because you promised you’d teach me control.”

I didn’t want to beg for reassurance. She provided none.

Ms. Dowling met my beseeching gaze with her own cool, level stare. Her voice drew a line under the conversation. “No, Bloom. You’re here because you knew you had no other choice.”

I almost hated her for not helping me, but she was right. This was the place I could learn control. My parents deserved better than a child gone wild as a forest fire. I was doing this for them.

* * *

Reactions/Thoughts

* * *

> There was a realm called Eraklyon, which sounded like a dragon clearing its throat.

I mean... that's one way to pronounce it? I guess?


	4. Fire

I’d do anything for my parents, including lie to them about my new boarding school in Definitely Switzerland. My afternoon video chat with them was slightly awkward, especially when Mom and Dad hinted about seeing the view from the window. If only fairyland had ski slopes!

Mom and I used to play pretend that I was a princess, back in the days when she thought I’d grow up to be a cheerleader and maybe prom queen. We’d get dressed up and she’d play me cheerleader-type music. I remembered one chant that went _Close your eyes and open your heart!_ The cheesy brainwashing hadn’t worked. I never much cared about frilly princess gowns, but I liked the idea of being at home in my princess castle.

In my fairy-tale castle daydreams, the princess got a room of her own.

In what beautiful blonde Stella had called the Winx suite—a bright series of rooms with tall windows and a view I couldn’t allow my parents to see—only one person got a room of their own. To my total lack of surprise, that person was Stella.

The second room was occupied by Musa, the girl with the buzzing headphones I’d spotted earlier, and Terra, who was even now bustling through the rooms placing plants on every available surface. I was sharing a room with a girl called Aisha. I’d noticed her athletic bag earlier, but now Aisha’s impressive array of sports medals on her dresser were shining more brightly than the mirror. I didn’t know where Aisha herself was. She moved fast, loping through our rooms with terrifying grace and speed.

She seemed nice, but I didn’t envision myself being bosom buddies with a supreme jock.

When Mom, always waiting for my transformation into Ms. Popular, asked about the other girls, I shrugged. “Honestly, it’s five girls in an enclosed space, so … it’s only a matter of time before we descend into a _Lord of the Flies_ situation and kill one another.”

My mother didn’t love that answer. After our usual back and forth, my parents asked to see the Alps again. I stared around in panic. I couldn’t provide my parents with a socially successful daughter _or_ the Alps.

On my nightstand, a light bulb went off. Then on. Then off again.

Aisha’s calm voice said: “All right. Lights out. Phones off.”

I told my parents I loved them and signed off. Then I was free to express my everlasting gratitude to Aisha.

She smiled faintly, but I thought there was warmth there. “Do I want to know why they think you’re in the Alps?”

“My parents are both human. They’re apparently not allowed to know anything about this place, so they think Alfea is an international boarding school in Switzerland.”

Aisha sounded startled. “Human parents, fairy daughter?”

I’d been hoping that wasn’t as unusual as Aisha’s tone said it was. She didn’t seem the type to startle easily.

I busied myself with unpacking to hide my discomfort. “Ms. Dowling said there’s a fairy somewhere in my family tree? A long-dormant magical bloodline?” I sighed. “One day I will get used to how ridiculous all this sounds.”

Aisha’s surprise became wry amusement. “Oh my God. Have I just met the one person in the universe who’s never read Harry Potter?”

“How dare you. If you knew how many hours I have wasted taking online Sorting Hat quizzes …”

“Ravenclaw?”

“Sometimes Slytherin,” I admitted.

Sometimes I cheated so I wouldn’t get Slytherin. I worried that made me more Slytherin than ever.

“That explains the lies, then,” Aisha said mildly. For the first time, I noticed that Aisha had cool cobalt blue streaks running through her box braids.

“Gryffindor?” I shot back. “Explains the judgment.”

Aisha and I both grinned. Then I grabbed my makeup bag and headed for the bathroom. So far, I kinda liked my new roommate. If we did all end up murdering one another, maybe I’d kill Aisha last.

That still left the spot for who I’d kill first wide open.

I passed Stella’s room to see her studying the glittery and silvery outfits laid out on her bed like a general planning a campaign.

“May I help you?” Stella asked, without a glance at me.

Headmistress Dowling said Stella was supposed to be my mentor. Though she’d shown little interest in helping me so far.

“You’re changing?” I asked.

“I am.”

“I thought the orientation party was a casual thing?”

“It is.”

Just to clarify, I said: “A casual thing you’re changing for.”

“People have seen me in this outfit. They’ll expect something different.”

Stella said this as if it were obvious. She contemplated a different skirt with the intensity of a thousand suns.

I blinked. “People expect you to wear multiple outfits a day?”

“People expect me to care how I look.”

Stella’s eyes flicked to my very casual outfit. She glided over to her mirror without another word. As she gazed at her reflection, her eyes glowed a sudden umber yellow, startling as car headlights in a girl’s face. Another shimmering magical light appeared. Casually, Stella plucked the magic light from the air, placing it at an angle to illuminate her outfit.

I froze, caught like a rabbit in the headlights of magic.

“Something else?” Stella sounded bored.

“That light. It’s magic, right? How exactly do you …”

“I’m a mentor,” Stella said firmly. “Not a tutor.”

Okay, Stella, message received.

Stella relented. “This is something you’ll learn your first day in class, but fairy magic is linked to emotion. Could be good thoughts, could be bad. Love, hatred, fear. The stronger the emotion, the stronger the magic.”

“So do you hate me or fear me?” I teased. “You were staring at me when you did that spell. And I’m pretty sure you don’t love me.”

I was kidding, but Stella seemed to take me seriously.

“I don’t know you,” she answered. “I’m sure once I do I’ll find … something to love.”

The way she looked at me said she wasn’t so sure. At the same time, it was kind of nice that Stella wasn’t discounting the idea. There were times I looked in the mirror and didn’t see much to love.

I wondered if any of my new suitemates ever felt that way. Happy bustling Terra, cool girl Musa, glamorous Stella, and Aisha who seemed so grounded. Somehow, I suspected not.

* * *

Reactions/Thoughts

* * *

> I’d do anything for my parents, including lie to them about my new boarding school in Definitely Switzerland. 

Your parents didn't ask about any paper work? They just accepted that you were moving overseas without warning? Who's paying for this alleged boarding school? Actually how are you paying for school?

* * *

> We’d get dressed up and she’d play me cheerleader-type music. I remembered one chant that went _Close your eyes and open your heart!_ The cheesy brainwashing hadn’t worked. I never much cared about frilly princess gowns, but I liked the idea of being at home in my princess castle.

Creators kick my nostalgia for the lulz: 02

* * *

> In what beautiful blonde Stella had called the Winx suite—a bright series of rooms with tall windows and a view I couldn’t allow my parents to see—only one person got a room of their own. To my total lack of surprise, that person was Stella.

Bloom is gay for Stella count: 02

Creators kick my nostalgia for the lulz: 03

Really? That's how you're chosing to shoe-horn the Winx brand in? It just happens to be the name of their dorm. Sorry, their 'suite'.

* * *

> When Mom, always waiting for my transformation into Ms. Popular, asked about the other girls, I shrugged. “Honestly, it’s five girls in an enclosed space, so … it’s only a matter of time before we descend into a _Lord of the Flies_ situation and kill one another.”

So... no. Lord of the Flies is an extension of a study in relation to a very specific mono-ethnic (white), male and privileged group. It is literally young rich white boys, and the break down in community and sense of ethics that results in their single bias attitudes in the face of adversity.

The Winx are firstly female, multi-ethnic (not as much as they should be) and from a variety of socioeconomic backgrounds. If it devolves into murder, it will be vicious but it will not be “Lord of the Flies.” _**Find a better reference**_.

* * *

> I busied myself with unpacking to hide my discomfort. “Ms. Dowling said there’s a fairy somewhere in my family tree? A long-dormant magical bloodline?” I sighed. “One day I will get used to how ridiculous all this sounds.”
> 
> Aisha’s surprise became wry amusement. “Oh my God. Have I just met the one person in the universe who’s never read Harry Potter?”

… why is that your conclusion? Long lost princess/prince/hero/magical heir swept up for adventure is a common trope. It doesn't make it feel any less ridiculous.

* * *

> I wondered if any of my new suitemates ever felt that way. Happy bustling Terra, cool girl Musa, glamorous Stella, and Aisha who seemed so grounded.

It is so amazing how the girls that Bloom just happened to notice outside, you know, the only girls Bloom noticed outside, are all her roommates.


	5. Mind

Five girls. Forty-eight plants. The Winx suite was crowded. For Musa, everywhere was crowded: buzzing with other people’s intrusive feelings, slipped under her door like a constant stream of messages she’d never asked for.

Musa wished passionately that at least she’d gotten a room of her own. But no. Into their shared bedroom came Terra, drooping because queen bee Stella had told her to take her plants elsewhere.

Terra seemed to be easily hurt. Her pain rang in Musa’s head like a gong, and Musa set her teeth.

“She seems lovely,” Musa observed.

Stella’s emotions were anything but lovely. But then, in Musa’s experience, most people’s feelings weren’t lovely.

Terra’s super sweet voice revved into overdrive, picking up speed and frantic pleasantness on the way. “She’s just having fun. And I know it’s a lot. Shocker, Earth Fairy named Terra likes plants. It’s a family thing. I’ve got a cousin named Flora. My mom’s name is Rose, and my dad works in the greenhouse here. That’s why I know a lot of the second years. I grew up around Alfea, and—”

 _A lot of the second years, like Stella_ , Terra meant. That felt wrong. It pinged around Musa’s head, like noticing a book missing on a bookshelf.

“Stella’s a second year? Why is she in a suite full of first years?”

“Oh yeah. Actually … I don’t know. Some administrative thing last year? I mean, I think …”

 _I think you’re lying_ , thought Musa. She turned her back and dipped her power toward Terra, getting a faint sense that …

No, she shouldn’t pursue it. Lots of people lied. Terra must not be encouraged, that was clear. She was already filling their room with plants and Musa’s head with way too much information Musa had never asked for.

“You know what?” Musa decided. “It’s actually not a big deal.” She reached for her headphones like a drowning person reaching for a life raft.

Terra rattled on. “Also, like, I wouldn’t bring it up to her. Let’s just … all of us … blanket statement: Who cares?”

“Weirdly enough, that’s my motto in life. So we are golden.” Musa meant this as a way to kindly but firmly disengage. Terra the Terror didn’t get it.

“Do you want a succulent? They’re hip. Low maintenance. Very you. Not that I really know you, but—”

“If I take it, will you stop talking?” Musa snapped, and then instantly felt bad. “Terra. I’m just having fun.”

Musa took the plant, giving Terra exactly what she wanted, and was rewarded when Terra turned away. Relieved, Musa quickly slid on her headphones.

Then, disaster. Because Terra didn’t really want Musa to take a plant. She wanted Musa to engage, to be interested, to be overwhelmed by Terra’s jumbled rush of emotions. To drown in them.

“Actually, this one might be—”

Musa turned her back so Terra couldn’t see her face. She hoped desperately that Terra would give up and leave her alone.

There was a knock on the door. Musa glanced toward it, guessing this was calm-waters Aisha, or firebrand Bloom. Stella was so clearly not the knocking type.

Aisha popped her head in. “Did you say you grew up at Alfea?”

Sports fiend Aisha wanted to find a pool to swim in, because she had to swim twice a day every day or perish, apparently. Terra burst into a totally unhelpful torrent of information about the pond where the Specialists trained. According to her, the military division of the school took turns tipping each other into the water while they sparred.

Musa left Aisha to deal with Terra.

 _Get used to disappointment_ , Musa thought, about Aisha and Terra both. Aisha wasn’t getting a pool, and Terra wasn’t making any friends here.

Terra was clearly the type who wanted everyone to like her. The more that type tried, the less people liked her—which made her try even harder. That was the Try–Hard Catch-22.

It made Musa feel lousy to see Terra trying so hard … but it didn’t make Musa like her. Musa guessed that reaction was part of Terra’s problem.

Whatever. Musa had her own problems. She didn’t care about Fire Fairies, Light Fairies, Earth Fairies, Water Fairies, or Specialists. She focused on trying to tune everything and everyone out.

* * *

Reactions/thoughts

* * *

> Terra’s super sweet voice revved into overdrive, picking up speed and frantic pleasantness on the way. “She’s just having fun. And I know it’s a lot. Shocker, Earth Fairy named Terra likes plants. It’s a family thing. I’ve got a cousin named Flora. My mom’s name is Rose, and my dad works in the greenhouse here. That’s why I know a lot of the second years. I grew up around Alfea, and—”

ohp, there it is

Creators kick my nostalgia for the lulz:04

* * *

> “Stella’s a second year? Why is she in a suite full of first years?”
> 
> “Oh yeah. Actually … I don’t know. Some administrative thing last year? I mean, I think …”
> 
> _I think you’re lying_ , thought Musa. She turned her back and dipped her power toward Terra, getting a faint sense that …

Somehow I doubt it was blowing up a potions lab in pursuit of a new shade of pink.


	6. Specialist

It was another beautiful day in Alfea, in which the mighty Specialists trained to defend their magical realms. Trainees sparred on the platforms spanning the pond, a large rectangle of water that reflected the gray stone walls, a tree-lined path on one side and a swathe of green lawn on the other. Some chump had just gotten knocked into the water.

Riven smirked and swung his sword. After a long summer off, it was cool to have a blade in hand again. Less cool was Sky, Riven’s super annoying best friend in the whole world, who was rattling on about the ginger girl from the human world he’d met yesterday. Riven was sure she was crazy. He knew this because crazy was what Sky looked for in a woman.

Also uncool, but not unexpected: Sky was beating Riven hollow in their sparring session.

“You got slow this summer,” Sky laughed.

Riven bared his teeth. “Correction: I got high this summer.”

There was no real point trying to beat Sky. He was the best. Anyone in Alfea could tell you that … right after they told you Riven was the worst.

There was no real point, but Riven kept trying to beat Sky, anyway. Hey, nobody ever said Riven was smart.

Sky’s dad was Andreas of Eraklyon, the dead legendary hero, slayer of the Burned Ones. Sky’s dad-substitute was Specialist Headmaster Silva, their fearless leader with the cold blue eyes and passion for early morning runs. Riven cast a wary look around. He had a problem with authority, and his problem was the part where anyone had authority over him. Riven was certain Silva would be along shortly to explain that all the baby first-year Specialists should look up to Sky and copy him and be just like him but never as good.

 _Kill me_ , Riven thought. _I’m off to the woods to get high._

He made his way toward the forest, blowing off Sky’s protests. As he did, he noted one of the baby Specialists watching him go. Don? No, Dane. Riven considered giving the staring guy the finger, but he couldn’t be bothered.

He passed the blue, shimmering Barrier and went into the deep, dark woods. He could almost hear Silva’s voice now, telling the first years that the Barrier was their magical shield against the Burned Ones. Beware those merciless monsters with their inhuman strength and speed, never mind that nobody’s seen one in sixteen years, _woo woo_ , so scary.

Riven was allergic to inspirational speeches.

He had just sat down on some mossy rocks when he heard the noise: A deep, low rattle, like bones being dragged across bones, A strange sharp snapping.

It was coming from the trees. The forest looked the same as always, curving branches heaped with green leaves, dappled sunlight shimmering through. It was a sound that made every nerve ending Riven possessed twinge, chills running under his skin despite the sunlight.

He scanned his surroundings and used every bit of training he could remember to stay alert, to be prepared.

Nothing could have prepared Riven for the sight that lay beyond the leaves. It was the mangled corpse of an old man. The corpse barely had a head left, the skin of his cheek torn like paper, but what remained of his face told a story of terror and pain beyond imagining. The body had been pulled apart into rags and tatters. In the depths of the deepest, most jagged wounds, Riven glimpsed charred darkness.

Riven took one long look at the ruined fragments of what had once been a man. He tried to be a soldier, to be brave. Then he ran, stumbling over tree roots and rushing headlong back through the deep, dark woods toward the Barrier and safety. He screamed for Sky. For Silva. For help.

* * *

Reactions/Thoughts

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> Less cool was Sky, Riven’s super annoying best friend in the whole world, who was rattling on about the ginger girl from the human world he’d met yesterday. Riven was sure she was crazy. He knew this because crazy was what Sky looked for in a woman.

So Riven is Riven and Brandon, okay.

I hate these assholes.

* * *

> Riven bared his teeth. “Correction: I got high this summer.”

… : /

* * *

> There was no real point trying to beat Sky. He was the best. Anyone in Alfea could tell you that … right after they told you Riven was the worst.
> 
> There was no real point, but Riven kept trying to beat Sky, anyway. Hey, nobody ever said Riven was smart.

… >:(

* * *

> Sky’s dad was Andreas of Eraklyon, the dead legendary hero, slayer of the Burned Ones. Sky’s dad-substitute was Specialist Headmaster Silva, their fearless leader with the cold blue eyes and passion for early morning runs.

So many dead parents suddenly

* * *

> He passed the blue, shimmering Barrier and went into the deep, dark woods. He could almost hear Silva’s voice now, telling the first years that the Barrier was their magical shield against the Burned Ones. Beware those merciless monsters with their inhuman strength and speed, never mind that nobody’s seen one in sixteen years, _woo woo_ , so scary.

And Bloom is how old? Also: guess who’s about to start showing up suddenly! Trick question, it’s the Burned Ones, the ones we’ve already been told are the new series’ enemy.


	7. Earth

There were lights strung over the courtyard. There was music playing. Terra was finally a student at Alfea, attending the orientation party just like she’d always dreamed. After years of being the professor’s kid daughter who hung around the greenhouse too much, she was finally a full-fledged student.

But when Terra had pictured this scene, she’d never imagined that everyone would be talking about murder. She didn’t particularly care for party gossip focused on corpses.

Apparently, Riven had found a body in the woods. There were whispers that the old man might have been killed by a Burned One, but people always whispered about Burned Ones. Terra knew it couldn’t be true.

 _Riven must be so upset_ , Terra thought, but she certainly didn’t care about that. She was hanging out with her new suitemates at a party. Their suite was called the Winx suite, which was such a cool name. Maybe they could call themselves the Winx Club?

Terra, Aisha, and Musa were just getting food together, having a good time, talking about … murder.

“Maybe he was just old,” Terra said uneasily. “People get old. Die. We all die.”

That sounded okay. Not too scary.

Terra’s new roommate, Musa, who was too cool for school and certainly too cool for Terra, said: “Yeah. That old-age decapitation really sneaks up on you.”

Terra bit her lip. Musa must think she was really dumb.

Aisha was building a magnificent cookie tower on a napkin. The Leaning Tower of Cookies. Terra nervously eyed the food laid out on the tables before them. Sometimes she felt as if food might bite her before she bit into it. She couldn’t take cookies. All the other girls in the Winx suite were so skinny and pretty. If Terra ate a bunch of cookies, people would say, “No wonder she looks like that.” But if Terra got a plate full of carrots, people would say, “Who does she think she’s kidding, when she looks like that?” It was hard to know what to do.

Musa and Aisha were joking around about how many cookies Aisha was eating. It looked as though Musa actually did know how to smile.

Musa nodded at the cookies. “No judgment, but—”

“I eat a million calories a day. If I didn’t swim, I’d be massive.” Aisha sounded amused as she spoke. She looked and moved like a lean, mean, beautiful machine. Of course she found the idea of being massive hilarious.

“I used to dance,” said Musa. “I get it.”

They really seemed to understand each other. They really seemed to be getting along.

“And on that note …” Aisha rose in quest of more cookies.

Musa teased, “Second round. Damn. Twice a day. Every day. You weren’t kidding.”

Aisha laughed and headed off. Musa moved to put her headphones back on now that Aisha wasn’t there to have fun with.

Terra spoke more sharply than she’d meant to. “So you heard her earlier?”

Musa said, “What?”

Terra knew she shouldn’t push it. She already had a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach, and she knew this would only make her feel worse, but she couldn’t help it. “In the room. ’Cause I remember you had your headphones on. And … you ignored me like you couldn’t hear me. But you could hear Aisha?”

Musa was clearly choosing her words carefully. “Sometimes I wear my headphones when I don’t feel like talking.”

“Yeah,” said Terra. “I just noticed you wear them a lot around me.”

As the lights twinkled and the music played, Terra watched her new roommate struggle with how to respond. _Musa was a nice person_ , Terra thought bleakly. She didn’t want to hurt Terra. She just didn’t _like_ Terra.

After a pause, Musa claimed, “It’s a me thing. It’s not—”

“It’s fine,” Terra told her, abruptly sick of herself. “No need to explain. You’ve said enough. And I’ve said too much.”

She did Musa the only favor she could and walked away, leaving Musa in peace and Terra alone at her first party at Alfea.

She spotted her dad moving through the party with an especially purposeful air. A couple of students called out, “Hey, Professor Harvey!” as he went, which he hardly seemed to hear. Even Terra’s dad was more popular than Terra.

Her dad was currently her only hope.

Terra tried to speak to him brightly. “Hey, Dad! You headed to the greenhouse? Something you need help with?”

It couldn’t be anything to do with … with the body. No, Terra was sure the new crying crocuses had come in.

Her dad twinkled benevolently down at her, and Terra’s heart sank. “Not gonna happen, love. It’s your first day. No hiding in the greenhouse. You’ve wanted to go to Alfea your entire life. You’re here now. Mingle. Be _you_.”

 _Being me is the problem_ , Terra thought. _I wish I could be someone else._

She wasn’t going to hunt for her annoying brother. She couldn’t go back to Musa and Aisha. The mere idea of going to find Stella was both hilarious and very, very terrifying. And Terra wasn’t even sure if Bloom was coming to the party. The redheaded girl from the human world—just as slim and lovely as all their other suitemates—seemed distracted whenever you spoke to her. As though she were very focused on something else and didn’t have time for you.

It was time to admit it. Her suitemates clearly all thought Terra was dull as dirt. _The thing was_ , Terra thought, _dirt was really interesting_. Unfortunately, nobody else agreed with her.

She just wanted one person to hang out with, to do fun things like compost. Just one. A friend.

Deserted even by her dad, Terra let her eyes drift over to the tables full of discarded food. At least Terra could make herself useful. Somebody had to clean up this mess.

* * *

Reactions/Thoughts

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> Their suite was called the Winx suite, which was such a cool name. Maybe they could call themselves the Winx Club?

Yep, they're going with that, okay.

_You couldn’t even name the suit Wings in the kind of obnoxious cursive that makes it look like Winx and have Bloom misread it and become a running joke amongst the girls?!?!?!_

* * *

> Terra nervously eyed the food laid out on the tables before them. Sometimes she felt as if food might bite her before she bit into it. She couldn’t take cookies. All the other girls in the Winx suite were so skinny and pretty. If Terra ate a bunch of cookies, people would say, “No wonder she looks like that.” But if Terra got a plate full of carrots, people would say, “Who does she think she’s kidding, when she looks like that?” It was hard to know what to do.

Wow, just, wow. Terra honey, they do you so dirty. Fat girls don't have to hate themselves, just a note for the creators. And Terra, baby, if people gonna talk shit either way, you eat whatever the f*ck you want.

(If this is not the set up for a personal growth arc in which Terra learns to not-hate-her-body and that she is worth loving regardless, and the creators really think plus sized folks just hate themselves as a constant state of being, I'mma be so unbelievably pissed off.)

* * *

> She wasn’t going to hunt for her annoying brother.

Hold up, Terra has a brother?


	8. Fire

I scanned the courtyard of my fairy school, searching for my Winx suitemates. Enough writing in my notebook about fire and thinking of my parents, I’d decided. I was here at Alfea until I learned enough to go home. I had to make the best of this.

But there were a lot of people here at the party. Fairies. Weird fairy people, in this weird fairy place. I’d been at this party two minutes, and I needed a breather.

Instead of a suitemate, I spotted Cute Guy from before. I headed for him, thankful for a familiar face.

“This is a lot of people,” I told him, to explain my possibly frazzled air.

“What, you don’t have parties in …” Cute Guy paused, weighing it, then took the risk. “ _California?”_

I paused in mock surprise. “He remembers!”

Cute Guy gave me a smile. “Impressed?”

That he’d gone to the trouble, maybe. I liked the careful way he said _California_ as though he were pronouncing a foreign word. He’d done so correctly, but with the anxiety of uncertainty behind it.

I still needed a breather. “Where can I go that’s the opposite of this? What’s outside?”

Cute Guy looked alarmed. “Past the Barrier? Depending on the rumors, bears or wolves or something much scarier.”

“But no people?” I asked. “Perfect. Thanks.”

That sounded like the warehouse I’d hid out in back home. Essentially harmless, but creepy, so others would avoid it and I could find refuge there. I started for the gates, and Cute Guy started to say I shouldn’t go alone. He offered to accompany me, and I scoffed. Such a line.

He said, “It wasn’t a line. Trust me.”

I thought about Stella saying once she knew me, she’d find something to love about me.

It made me smile. Or maybe it was the boy in front of me who made me smile. “Maybe someday, I will.”

He was so cute, and he was clearly making an effort, and he was a boy who thought California was an alien concept. The fact I had never fit in there wouldn’t matter to him. Maybe I should let him come along.

As if I’d conjured her by thinking about her, Stella’s voice rang out. “Hey, Sky. Can we talk?”

Stella was wearing her flawless new outfit and holding two drinks. Every twinkly light in the courtyard caught gold in her hair. She was looking right at Cute Guy, whose name was apparently Sky. From Sky’s expression, he knew Stella pretty well.

Wow, this was none of my business. I left them to it. All around me people were talking excitedly about some horror movie with guts everywhere. I wasn’t here to make friends, or to trust anyone, or to love anyone. Soon enough, I was going home.

I headed past what Sky called the Barrier. To be alone, where it was safe.

* * *

> I still needed a breather. “Where can I go that’s the opposite of this? What’s outside?”
> 
> Cute Guy looked alarmed. “Past the Barrier? Depending on the rumors, bears or wolves or something much scarier.”

Did you not hear about the dead body? The very mutilated dead body? Sky, buddy? You're not going to bring up the very murdered and mutilated dead body in order to prevent the new girl from a foreign world (that you want to bang) from going into actual and legitimate danger?  
No?

* * *

> I thought about Stella saying once she knew me, she’d find something to love about me.
> 
> It made me smile.

Bloom is gay for Stella count: 03

* * *

> As if I’d conjured her by thinking about her, Stella’s voice rang out. “Hey, Sky. Can we talk?”
> 
> Stella was wearing her flawless new outfit and holding two drinks. Every twinkly light in the courtyard caught gold in her hair. She was looking right at Cute Guy, whose name was apparently Sky. From Sky’s expression, he knew Stella pretty well.

Yeah, Stella is Diaspro now


	9. Earth

Terra was passing busily through the party carrying food trays when a scene of horrible injustice caught her eye.

Oh, for the love of … Riven was menace-flirting at some poor Specialist boy. This was Riven’s typical behavior when he felt off balance. Terra had once witnessed Riven looming at a fern in a way that suggested he either wanted to prune viciously or make out.

At the time, she’d thought: _Bless this mess._ These days, she was more of the opinion that this mess needed composting.

The poor boy must be a first year. Terra didn’t recognize 

him from last year. Riven had an arm around him and was making him drink something that Terra highly suspected was alcoholic.

The new boy’s eyes said _help me._ So Terra did.

“Really? Bullying the new kid? Be more obvious.”

Riven smirked, because of course he did. “Can’t bully the willing. Right?”

There was something loaded about Riven’s tone.

“I don’t know what that means!” the new boy said sharply.

The new boy was clearly feeling uncomfortable. Terra sympathized. The poor thing mustn’t take Riven’s terrible personality personally.

“Ignore him,” she said, indicating Riven. “He thinks he’s some badass; you should’ve seen him last year. He’s just a tragic nerd in disguise.”

Riven’s eyes narrowed. “And she’s just three people in disguise.”

There was a silence ringing amid the noise of this party where Terra didn’t fit in. The new boy gave her a guilty look, silently offering to do something, which was so nice of him but not necessary.

Terra told the sweet boy, “I got it. But thanks.” She let her chipper tone drop as she stepped up to Riven. _What a relief_ , she thought distantly. No need to fake nice at Mr. Skinny Jeans Sociopath. Terra could just wreck him.

“See, people always think they can treat big girls like crap. We’re nice. Harmless. We should be happy you’re even talking to us.”

The vines on the castle wall behind Riven started to writhe and move, like friendly green snakes.

“But sometimes we’ve had a bad day, and a scrawny little twerp says the wrong thing at the wrong time,” Terra purred. “And all of a sudden, we’re not happy you’re talking to us. And we’re not nice. And most of all, we’re not harmless.”

The vines coiled around Riven’s neck. It happened so fast, he didn’t have the time to use his Specialist skills to dodge. The vines were suffocating him so he couldn’t even talk. It was so nice and peaceful.

Terra smiled sweetly. “What’s that, Riv? I’m sure it’s clever. I just can’t hear you.”

His face turned red. He was about to pass out, Terra noted, still with that feeling of cheery distance. She shouldn’t actually let him faint. Riven would hate that.

The vines receded. Riven took a hugegasp of air.

“You could’ve killed me, you freak,” he spat out, as if he was the one who’d been betrayed.

Riven bolted. Terra called after him, a pleasant trill coming naturally for once: “Missed you, too!”

Then she abruptly realized how she’d behaved in front of the new boy, and turned around in a state of total mortification.

“Hi,” she gushed. “Sorry. I’m Terra, and that was not my ideal first impression.”

The new boy smiled at her. It was a weak smile, but Terra appreciated him making the effort.

“Is it better or worse than throwing up after a single drink?”

The new Specialist boy, Terra noted, was very cute. Which was impressive for someone about to throw up. He had lovely forest-deep black curls, close cropped with shaved sides. His eyes were deep chocolate brown, like rich, new-turned earth, and he had great arms and great everything, muscles rippling beneath his smooth dark brown skin. His teeth were white, but his smile was faltering.

 _Appreciate the cute later, help the new boy first._ He was holding it in, but Terra judged he wouldn’t be for long. Terra should get him somewhere private, and maybe fetch him a cool flannel.

“I’m Dane,” the boy told her as she led him off.

All Terra knew was this: Here was someone who needed her. At last.

* * *

Reactions/Thoughts

* * *

> Oh, for the love of … Riven was menace-flirting at some poor Specialist boy. This was Riven’s typical behavior when he felt off balance. Terra had once witnessed Riven looming at a fern in a way that suggested he either wanted to prune viciously or make out.

I... what???

* * *

> “Really? Bullying the new kid? Be more obvious.”
> 
> Riven smirked, because of course he did. “Can’t bully the willing. Right?”
> 
> There was something loaded about Riven’s tone.
> 
> “I don’t know what that means!” the new boy said sharply.
> 
> The new boy was clearly feeling uncomfortable. Terra sympathized. The poor thing mustn’t take Riven’s terrible personality personally.

Well, someone belongs on a sex offenders registry. What the fuck Terra, don't excuse this shit, it's not okay.

* * *

> “But sometimes we’ve had a bad day, and a scrawny little twerp says the wrong thing at the wrong time,” Terra purred. “And all of a sudden, we’re not happy you’re talking to us. And we’re not nice. And most of all, we’re not harmless.”

“purred”, really? You gonna make it sound sensual? Let the girl _Snarl_! Damnit!

* * *

> The vines were suffocating him so he couldn’t even talk. It was so nice and peaceful.
> 
> Terra smiled sweetly. “What’s that, Riv? I’m sure it’s clever. I just can’t hear you.”
> 
> His face turned red. He was about to pass out, Terra noted, still with that feeling of cheery distance. She shouldn’t actually let him faint. Riven would hate that.

Uhhh, so Terra might have psychopathic tendencies and a dissociative disorder.

* * *

> She shouldn’t actually let him faint. Riven would hate that.

Yeah, and his victim would have hated being assaulted, choke this douche.

Gods above I cannot stress how much I hate this Riven in comparison to OG Riven, and I was not OG Riven's biggest fan.


	10. Fire

It was beautiful and peaceful in the forest, just as I’d hoped. There were multicolored swarms of tiny insects among the trees, jewel bright against the shadowy green.

This mystical forest was the perfect place to practice my magic. _Magic worked through feelings_ , Stella had said. Like love. I pulled out my phone and looked through pictures of my family. Okay, Bloom, good thoughts! You can do it!

_The burning house. My mother, so still._

No, Bloom, not those thoughts …

_Running toward my parents as they screamed, knowing I’d be too late …_

Oh hell. I was feeling something. Surely that would work. I _felt_ as though this might work. I focused on that feeling, instead of my memories. I was starting to feel warm all over.

As the glow rose within me, a small fire grew in my right hand. Then my left hand ignited as well. When fire sprang up in my hand, I was glad I didn’t melt my phone.

I stared down at the twin flames in my palms, dancing, bewitching. Beautiful. I was starting to feel pretty great.

I played with the flames as though they were juggling balls, watching their starlight brightness lick against the air. The flames were burning hotter, higher, their intensity spreading. My hands were dripping flame.

Panic began to rise along with the fire.

I tried to throw the flames away, and only realized how stupid that was when the sparks fell from my hands and the forest floor caught fire.

Over the crackle of flame, I heard Aisha’s quiet voice saying my name.

I stared, embarrassment fighting panic, as she stepped forward, her blue clothes a bright contrast to the green leaves and earth of the forest. Her long braids of dark hair were still wet from a river swim, and she’d used a cloth headband to keep them off her face. As she approached me, she kept talking, in her calm, soothing way, but I was in no mood to be soothed.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” I snarled.

“Neither should you,” said Aisha. “You’re out of control.”

My frustration was an inferno inside me.

“I know that.”

I knew that better than anyone else.

“Calm down,” Aisha urged. “If you get angry at me—”

“Just go away!”

The frustrated scream burst out of me, manifesting into the flames at my feet. Suddenly, I stood in a fire, as though I was a witch being burned, but the flames didn’t hurt me. They erupted toward Aisha, rushing to envelop her the way they’d rushed toward my mom.

I was a forest fire in the shape of a girl. Everyone should stay away.

“Run, Aisha!” I screamed. “ _Run.”_

But Aisha didn’t. Instead, she faced the flames racing toward her. She crouched to the ground, and her eyes glowed brilliant blue as she summoned the water to her. Water burst from the ground at her feet in droplets cascading upward, as though Aisha had made the earth the sky, and then made it rain. Water struck the fire like a blue sword, and halted my destruction.

* * *

Reactions/Thoughts

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THESE ARE THE SCENES FROM THE TRAILER!!!!!

Bloom continues to be a dumbass.


	11. Water

Aisha wasn’t used to Alfea, but she was used to being part of a team. She was glad she had suitemates, and even gladder she had a roommate rather than being alone like Stella. She’d liked Bloom right away, too, appreciating Bloom’s directness and her easy humor.

Bloom setting fire to the woods was a drawback, but Aisha was trying to deal. If she could make the girls in the Winx suite feel as though they were her team, then she knew she could take anything Alfea threw at her.

Aisha had hoped for something from her brand-new roommate. Not an explanation, necessarily, but possibly a “sorry for almost setting you on fire”?

But Bloom didn’t say anything. Instead, she ran out of the forest and back to the castle.

Aisha chased Bloom into the courtyard, trying to explain how reckless she’d been. “You were a runaway train, Bloom! You had no idea what you were doing!”

“Which is why I was out there _alone_ , trying to figure it out.”

“Brilliant idea,” Aisha said. It was the dumbest idea she’d ever heard in her whole life.

Bloom snapped, “I didn’t grow up here. I don’t have fairy parents. I’ve done magic once in my life. And it was …”

“What? Terrible?” Aisha asked wryly. “I’m shocked. I flooded my entire secondary school after I failed a math test. Taps, sprinklers … _toilets_. Have you ever waded through human excrement? I have. Not pleasant. But sometimes being a fairy means you have to deal with crap.”

It was meant to be a funny story, one that would make Bloom laugh. One that would help them bond, turn them into a team. When Bloom stopped and turned around, looking into Aisha’s eyes, Aisha thought for a moment Bloom would share a dumb story of her own, and they could laugh together.

“We’re roommates, Bloom,” Aisha murmured encouragingly. “We have to be open with each other.”

Aisha and Bloom were walking down a passageway, Bloom looking off the balcony to one side. Then Bloom went to sit on a bench. She took a deep breath and told her story. How her mother and Bloom had been fighting about her social life, and how Bloom would rather fix old lamps than cheerlead. How Bloom had slammed a door, so her mother had said, “Slam your door, lose your door.”

Bloom’s parents had taken her door off its hinges, and apparently Bloom had gone unhinged.

“That night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I could feel the rage building. And that’s when it happened. The fire.” Bloom stopped for a minute, glancing over to see if Aisha understood.

Aisha did. She stared at Bloom in quiet horror. Bloom’s red hair stood out against the black sky like fire itself.

“It was almost like the fire had a life of its own,” Bloom went on. “I don’t remember how long I let it burn. I just remember their screams.”

When Bloom finished the story, she was clearly fighting back tears. A subtle, weary tremor went through her frame, like a runner past her endurance. It seemed like Bloom had been fighting for a long time.

“My mom was covered in third-degree burns,” Bloom said. “Because of me. And if I hadn’t gone in there to stop it? To stop what I started?” She looked completely burned out.

“Every night after that, I sneaked out. I was so scared I’d hurt them again that I slept in this creepy-ass warehouse near home. Until Ms. Dowling found me and …”

She trailed off, shivering a little with no fire to warm her or destroy anything else. This wasn’t the fun sharing of secrets Aisha had imagined. Bloom’s already withdrawing body language suggested she was sure Aisha would walk away from her now.

Instead, Aisha went and sat next to her roommate. “All right,” she murmured. “Fire story beats crap story. You win.”

At last, Aisha had succeeded in making Bloom smile.

“And your parents had no idea what happened?” Aisha asked. “No idea it was you?”

“Not sure how distant my fairy ancestors are, but the most mystical thing my parents believe in is knocking on wood.”

Aisha frowned. That didn’t make any sense.

Bloom picked up on her doubt right away. “What?”

Aisha hesitated. “It’s just odd. You drew on a great deal of magic without even trying. It’s hard to believe you’re from a dormant bloodline. Is there … any chance you’re adopted?”

From the way Bloom’s eyes were boring into Aisha, there was no chance in hell, or fairyland.

“I’ve heard the story of my birth a million times.” Bloom’s tone brooked no argument. “Miracle baby. There was a problem with my heart in the womb, but the day after I was born, it was gone.”

Aisha went cold. “Oh God,” she breathed. “You’re a changeling.”

“What’s that?”

Aisha fell silent. She wanted her new roommate to like her, wanted them to get along. She didn’t want to be the one to crush everything Bloom believed in.

“Aisha. What’s a changeling?” Bloom pursued and persisted in the face of more silence. “We’re roommates. We have to be open with each other, remember?”

Aisha drew in a deep breath. “A changeling is a fairy baby that’s switched with a human one at birth.”

The whole world seemed to tremble around them, as though it was a candle flame about to go out.

“Wait,” Bloom said shakily. “What?”

“It’s barbaric, and it barely ever happens anymore, but …”

“That’s not possible!”

Aisha tried to speak reasonably, to make Bloom understand and come closer to acceptance. “You’re clearly very powerful, Bloom. You have to be pure-blooded.”

“I would know,” Bloom said, struggling to keep her voice even, “if my parents weren’t my parents.”

Aisha surrendered immediately. “Okay. Okay. You’re right.”

Accusation turned Bloom’s voice sharp. “Why would you even say that?”

“I’m just trying to help,” Aisha said helplessly.

Bloom got up from the bench.

“Well,” Bloom told Aisha coldly, “you’re not.”

She turned her back on Aisha as though it was her fault. As though she blamed her, hated her.

And why wouldn’t Bloom hate her? Aisha had effectively told Bloom she could never go home. That Bloom didn’t belong there.

Bonding with her new roommate was not going great.

* * *

Reactions/Thoughts

* * *

> Aisha wasn’t used to Alfea, but she was used to being part of a team. 

Well someone hasn't watched the show.

* * *

> How her mother and Bloom had been fighting about her social life, and how Bloom would rather fix old lamps than cheerlead.

Who is this woman, where is Vanessa? And Bloom's art thing? The lamps sounds interesting, but I've never seen sign of it yet, was it cut for time?

* * *

> “It was almost like the fire had a life of its own,” Bloom went on. “I don’t remember how long I let it burn. I just remember their screams.”
> 
> When Bloom finished the story, she was clearly fighting back tears. A subtle, weary tremor went through her frame, like a runner past her endurance. It seemed like Bloom had been fighting for a long time.
> 
> “My mom was covered in third-degree burns,” Bloom said. “Because of me. And if I hadn’t gone in there to stop it? To stop what I started?” She looked completely burned out.
> 
> “Every night after that, I sneaked out. I was so scared I’d hurt them again that I slept in this creepy-ass warehouse near home. Until Ms. Dowling found me and …”

Given the Tragic Backstory™ , I'm actually a little surprised Bloom didn't straight up run away from home completely, the fact that she went back _at all_...

* * *

> “I’ve heard the story of my birth a million times.” Bloom’s tone brooked no argument. “Miracle baby. There was a problem with my heart in the womb, but the day after I was born, it was gone.”
> 
> Aisha went cold. “Oh God,” she breathed. “You’re a changeling.”

Because Bloom needs to be even more Special™, this is doing nothing to ruin my theory Bloom is a Burned One, by the way. (Actually starting to think Burned Ones are Fire Fairies whose powers pretty much consumed them or cursed that way or something along those lines.)

So where's the “real” Bloom Peters? Was the fetus even real, or just a simulacrum to have something to switch MC Bloom with?


	12. Mind

Musa liked Aisha. She liked Aisha’s general aura of unruffled waters. So she was trying to soothe the worry and guilt pouring out of Aisha as they walked to the Winx suite together, on their way back from the welcome gathering.

“She’s blanking my texts,” Aisha fretted about Bloom.

“Strange. I wonder if it’s because she poured her heart out to you and you told her she was a freak?” Musa asked.

Aisha did not seem soothed. _Right_ , Musa thought. _Whoops._

“Have you seen Bloom?” Aisha demanded, running past Stella into the bedroom and then out again.

Stella, lying on the sofa taking selfies, drawled: “Not recently.”

Stella’s tone gave Musa pause. Plus, Musa could tell Aisha was really upset. Deliberately, she let her powers turn on, and faced Stella with her eyes glowing.

“Your face looks so calm, but you are wracked with guilt,” she informed Stella.

Aisha gave Musa a look. Musa was familiar with the look.

“You’re a Mind Fairy,” Aisha observed, but there was no other judgment.

Aisha turned to Stella just as Terra came out of her and Musa’s room.

“A Mind Fairy?” Terra repeated sharply. “What’s your connection? Memories, thoughts—”

“Not a great time,” Musa pointed out.

Terra’s gaze traveled from each of her suitemates to the other. “Everything okay?”

Aisha sighed. “Not really. I’m looking for Bloom, and for some reason, Stella’s feeling guilty about it.”

Stella gave a sigh, as though overcome by tedium.

“Could everyone please save the drama for drama club?”

Stella was determined to pass this off, Musa realized. And Musa wasn’t going to fight her on it, not now that Terra knew what Musa could do, too. Musa knew how that would turn out, could already sense the horror Terra would feel coming toward her. Musa was suddenly and unutterably weary. Stella could keep her secrets.

Only Terra was moving toward Stella, and the way she moved wasn’t Terra’s usual going-nowhere happy bustle. The way Terra moved was that of a woman on the warpath.

Musa was almost impressed.

“She was talking to Sky, wasn’t she?” Terra demanded.

“And?” Stella demanded haughtily in return.

Terra pursued: “And I know what happened to the last person who _talked_ to Sky. I was here last year, remember?”

A crack appeared in Stella’s veneer as she shot back, “You don’t know the full story!”

Didn’t seem like Terra cared. “Ricki was your best friend, then she talked to Sky. Now she’s not here anymore. Why is that again?”

A threat hung in the air between them.

“Where is Bloom, Stella?” Terra demanded.

Stella visibly decided she wasn’t winning this battle.

“She was homesick,” Stella explained. “So I did a nice thing, and let her borrow my ring.”

Stella’s magic ring allowed fairies to travel between the realms.

Terra asked, “Doesn’t your ring only work _outside_ the Barrier?”

Outside the Barrier, where a man had been murdered.

Musa had been trying not to hear the thoughts about what had been done to the old man’s body all evening.

* * *

Reactions/Thoughts

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> Stella’s tone gave Musa pause. Plus, Musa could tell Aisha was really upset. Deliberately, she let her powers turn on, and faced Stella with her eyes glowing.

I'm sorry, I thought Musa couldn't control her powers, now she can 'deliberately turn them on'? When did this happen? Did I miss some Implications?

* * *

> “You’re a Mind Fairy,” Aisha observed, but there was no other judgment.
> 
> Aisha turned to Stella just as Terra came out of her and Musa’s room.
> 
> “A Mind Fairy?” Terra repeated sharply. “What’s your connection? Memories, thoughts—”

Okay, so now we learn there are different types of mind fairies. Explain to me why Musa is an Empath with Synthetic input? ('hearing' feelings, or experiencing them in a way that registers as audio.) Is this a “Song of their Hearts” reference, because I don't feel like that was done on purpose if it is.

* * *

> Only Terra was moving toward Stella, and the way she moved wasn’t Terra’s usual going-nowhere happy bustle. The way Terra moved was that of a woman on the warpath.
> 
> Musa was almost impressed.
> 
> “She was talking to Sky, wasn’t she?” Terra demanded.
> 
> “And?” Stella demanded haughtily in return.
> 
> Terra pursued: “And I know what happened to the last person who _talked_ to Sky. I was here last year, remember?”
> 
> A crack appeared in Stella’s veneer as she shot back, “You don’t know the full story!”
> 
> Didn’t seem like Terra cared. “Ricki was your best friend, then she talked to Sky. Now she’s not here anymore. Why is that again?”

Yeah, definitely getting the feeling DiaStella isn't being held back for a Pursuit of Pink Potions accident.


	13. Fire

There was even more rustling than usual in the detritus piled in the warehouse corners, but I didn’t care. I ran out of there all the way to my parents’ house. I was going to run through the door of home, and never leave, and …

There was a tarp over part of the house, still. There was the rubble of construction. The porch light was a beacon, lighting my way home.

And what would I do, once I was home? Burn it down again? Kill my parents?

I stopped moving forward. I took out my phone and called my parents, staring through the window, as I spoke to them and lied that I was jet-lagged when they asked if I was okay.

“You don’t have to be okay,” Mom assured me. “You’re only sixteen. Being that far away is a huge deal.”

Dad said gently, “I couldn’t have done it when I was your age. Be thankful you got your mom’s bravery.”

But now I knew that wasn’t true. I didn’t get anything from my mom. No wonder I was always such a disappointment to her.

Only I could see Mom through the kitchen window. She didn’t seem disappointed. She looked so happy just to be talking to me. How could I ever tell her what I did to her? How could I ever tell her what I was?

Mom was right. Even though I was so close, I couldn’t be farther away. And it _was_ so hard.

My parents told me they loved me. I knew I loved them. And I knew I didn’t belong here. Maybe I never had.

I slunk back to the warehouse, where I’d spent so many weary nights. Once I was there, it was like I’d never left, never seen Alfea. Like I was stuck here, confused and helpless.

I heard faint whispers. Sibilant. Strange.

Through the dusty windows, all illumination was fading away.

My head jerked up, and in the sole spotlight provided by the skylight, I saw a silhouette.

Even at first glance, I could tell everything about it was wrong, from its elongated limbs to its grotesquely crooked posture. It took a lurching step toward me.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t human.

I staggered backward, falling, and Stella’s ring rolled right out of my pocket. I watched the gleaming thing roll into the slats of a floor grate. _Oh no._

I crawled to it, reaching out my hand to grab the ring. But it was out of reach. I kept trying, when I heard the rasp. Distant. Growing louder.

The inhuman creature was coming closer and closer. I reached desperately for the ring again, flattening myself against the wall under the window, trembling as I held my breath.

Inches away from me, staring through the dirty window, I saw its monstrous face.

It was covered in charred flesh, with hollowed eye sockets. But deep within them, its black eyes were sharp. As though it saw me, and seeing me, it knew what to do.

The window shattered, glass flying everywhere. I pulled up the grate and dived into it, squeezing my body through and then crawling into the tiny space. Steam obscured my vision. Then I saw it, only a few feet away: Stella’s ring. On the other side of a vertical mesh barrier. I headed toward the shine of the ring, but then came a slamming sound that made my head echo.

The monster was on the grate above me.

I crawled as fast as I could. The ring was on the other side of the mesh, but there was a hole just big enough for my hand to get through. I reached for the ring, almost had it.

But in the crawl space in front of me, past the barrier, the shadow of the creature passed on top of the grate. The monster bashed frantically at the grate. Once. Twice. Until with a ringing metallic crash, the monster fell into the claustrophobic space with me.

I made one last grab for the ring, but the monster slammed its hand down on it.

I decided on a new plan. I called it plan B: Run like hell.

I crawled hastily out of the grate and ran for the warehouse’s emergency exit. Behind me, I heard the creature coming after me. I didn’t dare look back. I didn’t have to. I could tell it was coming fast.

Then Headmistress Dowling stepped out from behind a beam with that particularly serious expression on her face.

“This way,” Headmistress Dowling said coolly.

She stepped aside, revealing a framed doorway, and light. It was another magical portal. I stepped through.

From the other side, I turned as Ms. Dowling stepped between the monster and the doorway. She put her hand up, and the door slammed. After the slam came only silence.

I was left staring, stunned and saved.

Behind me, Aisha’s voice asked, “Are you okay?”

I turned and found, to my amazement, Aisha, Terra, and Musa all waiting for me. From the looks on their faces, they had seen the monster on the other side of the door.

“I think so? What the hell was that thing?”

Terra said in a fearful voice, “I’m pretty sure it’s called a Burned One.”

I couldn’t believe they had all come here, for me. There was only one of my suitemates missing.

“Wait. Where’s Stella?”

“I don’t know,” Aisha answered. “Why?”

I said numbly, “That thing took her ring.”

* * *

Reactions/Thoughts

* * *

> There was even more rustling than usual in the detritus piled in the warehouse corners, but I didn’t care.

Why teleport there? Is there a Rule about where Portals can go? Or is is just Because Bloom felt this was the best place to pop in?

* * *

> “You don’t have to be okay,” Mom assured me. “You’re only sixteen. Being that far away is a huge deal.”
> 
> Dad said gently, “I couldn’t have done it when I was your age. Be thankful you got your mom’s bravery.”
> 
> But now I knew that wasn’t true. I didn’t get anything from my mom. No wonder I was always such a disappointment to her.

Osmosis [noun] Def 2. the process of gradual or unconscious assimilation of ideas, knowledge, etc..

You have some damn decent parents by the sounds of this scene, even if your mother is sure you're a likeable human being who will have friends one day, why are you this way?! For the Angst points?!

* * *

> Only I could see Mom through the kitchen window. She didn’t seem disappointed. She looked so happy just to be talking to me. How could I ever tell her what I did to her? How could I ever tell her what I was?

Okay, so this line is bringing back the “they deserve to know what I am” line from the trailer, and now I'm torn between “The Winx deserve to know Bloom is a Burned One” and “my parents deserve to know I'm a Magical Fire Fairy (who burned down our house) and maybe a Changeling and thus not their biological daughter technically, maybe.”

* * *

> My parents told me they loved me. I knew I loved them. And I knew I didn’t belong here. Maybe I never had.

May I advise you: remove your angst blanket, turn on a light and clean the room to remove the Dark and Gritty filters of your life.

* * *

> I heard faint whispers. Sibilant. Strange.

Sibilant means hissing by the way. In case anyone was wondering.

* * *

The monster was on the grate above me.

> I crawled as fast as I could. The ring was on the other side of the mesh, but there was a hole just big enough for my hand to get through. I reached for the ring, almost had it.
> 
> But in the crawl space in front of me, past the barrier, the shadow of the creature passed on top of the grate. The monster bashed frantically at the grate. Once. Twice. Until with a ringing metallic crash, the monster fell into the claustrophobic space with me.
> 
> I made one last grab for the ring, but the monster slammed its hand down on it.

Oh man, if only telekinesis was one of the most basic of Fairy abilities Bloom might have been able to do something, but no, it's basic bitch elements or nothing.


	14. Specialist

Sky couldn’t get California girl Bloom out of his head. He was thinking about her while he was in the shower.

Oh no, Sky corrected himself in dismay, as his inner Riven made a comment about that one. Not like that. Just … how pretty she was, her red hair bright as a new copper penny, in the sunlight streaming through the courtyard. How funny she was. She’d looked so lost, trying to find her way around a strange castle, and that had drawn Sky to her like a moth to a Fire Fairy.

Sky had already done something a little bit sketch. At the orientation party, he’d found Terra Harvey, Professor Harvey’s daughter. Sky had an in there. Terra was drifting around looking happy and dreamy-eyed.

“Hey,” he’d said to her. “Terra, right?”

Terra blinked at him. “Yes.”

“Sorry if this is awkward,” Sky said. “But I was wondering … Bloom’s your suitemate, right? And I assume … you have her number …?”

Terra lit up like a light bulb. “And you’d like me to give you her number!” she exclaimed.

“Not if you think it’s weird,” Sky said hastily. “Or aggressive.”

“I don’t think it’s weird, Sky,” Terra assured him. “I think it’s beautiful. Love is beautiful!”

“Uh,” said Sky. “I don’t know about … I was just thinking, I’d, you know … text her …”

Terra had given Sky Bloom’s number, but Sky was still worried it was weird. Terra meant well, but she wasn’t socially adept.

Sky didn’t know how to ask someone out on a date. He’d been with Stella forever. She clung to him, because of her mom. She clung to him so tightly, it seemed like they must fit together. But then there had been the whole mess last year, and Stella had dumped him, and hadn’t spoken to him all summer. _They were done_ , Sky told himself firmly.

He was single. He could potentially date someone new.

If he could just figure out what to text Bloom.

He was wandering around the room in his towel, composing a text to Bloom, when Stella came through the door. And immediately tried to get under his towel.

Sky felt obliged to point out, ...

* * *

Reactions/Thoughts

* * *

I really freaking hate this version of Sky, just, _so much_.

Terra has her suspicions about the Stella-Sky dynamic and she just, 'oh they's in love at first sigh nothing could possibly go wrong here' hand the number over? Really?

Diaspro!Stella confirmed?


End file.
